A Monday 24th October in Manchester. The afternoon’s weather is surprisingly good, but the streets are quiet with City and United fans nursing their post-derby hangovers (for very different reasons) in offices, shops and bars.

Manchester’s rare and eerie quiet is interrupted when the sound of a thudding bassline and relentless heavy drumming is heard and a convertible Bentley approaches. The driver keeps on leaning out and high-fiving anyone he can; the driver is Mario Balotelli.

The Italian has been at Manchester City for little over a year, and during this time has been all over the world’s sport media for his eccentric, daft and sometimes dangerous off-the-pitch behaviour. He’s thrown darts at youth team players; he’s driven a bullied and truant schoolboy back to his school, demanded a meeting with the headmaster, and made the truant shake hands with his bully; he’s left his house black and flaky after staging a firework show in his bathroom. The stories go on.

On-the-pitch, however, his performances have been impressive. Excusing a red card here and mystery grass allergy there, he has averaged a goal every other game and has linked well with his teammates. He even looks at home.

What Balotelli has bought to the Premier League is something special, something that is very rare at the moment: he is a real entertainer. True, Wayne Rooney can wallop one in from thirty yards, but in his spare time he sleeps with pensioner prostitutes and is pally with Piers Morgan (the bloke off the telly who smiles like he’s chewing a turd); and true, Jack Wilshere is an exciting young talent, but in his spare time he’s on Twitter talking about computer games; and it’s also true that Luka Modric is a wonderfully creative midfielder, but he hasn’t got much to say for himself and is a proper eye-sore. This week, Balotelli built a racetrack for his quadbike in his back garden.

He is to football what Liam Gallagher is to music. Love him or hate him, you can’t help but be entertained by his antics, and you can’t doubt that he’s good at his day job.

Balotelli hasn’t had it easy: he was continually racially abused while playing in his country (having to face chants such as “There’s no such thing as a black Italian”); he faced serious illness as a child, and was fostered at three due to the poor living conditions with his biological Ghanaian immigrant parents. So it’s no surprise that he’s enjoying his wealth and fame.

His behaviour makes him the most entertaining player the Premier League has seen, surpassing Eric Cantona who had previously swaggered around with a French cool and caused thousands of schoolkids to upturn the collars on their football shirts. (With the exception of me – it must be noted – who tucked his shirt in like Manchester City and Scotland ankle-biter Paul Dickov instead.)

Now kids will be lifting their shirts to display their own messages, or will simply stand there looking nonplussed when they score in the playground. Now come on – that’s better than giving the sport teacher a four-letter tirade after not awarding a free-kick, and much better than a young Rooney fan developing an unsavoury interest in a 66 year-old dinner lady.

He is simply a kid from a rough background who wants to have fun, and it is refreshing in an era where footballers are robots who continually talk of ‘banter with the lads’ in sleep-inducing pre- or post-match interviews, or sleep with each other’s wives.

Mario Balotelli deserves a pat-on-the-back for bringing personality back into the game; either that or just high-five him when he drives past.

Movember update: it’s growing an unflattering shade of ginger. Please show  your support to prostate cancer sufferers and donate to: http://ca.movember.com/mospace/2079574/.